Her damp thighs are what first alert her to the extent of the chill in the room, but nothing can induce her to make more than a lazy swipe for her robe. "You'd better get your clothes on quickly," she advises, though not at all dismissively, her eyes looking him over, taking in the glistening between his legs like an art surveying her finished work with evident satisfaction. "I'd hate for you to get sick on my account."